


Hotel California

by The_Undead_One



Category: Hollywood Undead (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Demons, Demons, Hell, M/M, Multi, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-15 16:41:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29067471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Undead_One/pseuds/The_Undead_One
Summary: "Welcome to the Hotel CaliforniaSuch a lovely placeSuch a lovely facePlenty of room at the Hotel CaliforniaAny time of yearYou can find it here"Jorel Decker wakes up in an unfamiliar room with only vague memories of what happened and no memories of how he got there.
Relationships: Jorel Decker | J-Dog/George Ragan | Johnny 3 Tears
Comments: 15
Kudos: 6





	1. Welcome To Hell

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Here I am -- again! A new multi-chapter book! This one is based on Hotel California by The Eagles. If you haven't heard of it before, I recommend listening to it because it's really good. I've had this idea for awhile and I'm proud to say that I'm finally putting it out there!
> 
> I'm gonna apologize ahead of time because I don't think there's gonna be decently fast updates because I want this book to be the best it can be. I'm super excited for this, so I hope you are, too! If you are, please comment. It helps me know you want to see more and motivates me to write faster!

"Shit."

Jorel slammed his open-palm against the car horn. He was sitting in his car, his car that had stalled in the middle of the damn road in the middle of the damn night. Not a single car had passed by for miles, and that meant Jorel was stranded with no way to hitchhike off this fucking road. He was exhausted, which only fueled his irritation. 

"Shit, shit, shit!"

This was not how he'd expected his night to go, but then again, who expects to get stranded on their ride home? And he was still an hour away from the comfort of his bed and an hour still from the nearest car mechanic. He could call for a tow, but that would leave him with an hour of complete boredom. And then where would he go? What would he do? He was still the only damn person out there that late, and even if someone happened to pass by, he'd be extremely lucky if they stopped to pick him up. After all Jorel was just some random guy chilling on the side of the road, and who knew what he was capable of, right? 

Groaning, Jorel got out of the car and slammed the door shut. Grumbling under his breath about God and his deceitful ways, he called for a tow. The other end rang.

And rang.

And rang.

With a cry of frustration, Jorel hurled his phone at the ground. It skidded against the pavement, and he knew it was horrendously cracked, but he didn't care. He could buy a new phone; it wasn't that big of a deal. 

He kicked the driver side wheel, grunting as a wave of pain shot through his toes. He clutched his foot and hopped around, probably looking utterly ridiculous. What did it matter? No one was there to see him and his foot hurt like a bitch now. 

He sighed. Great. Now he had nobody to come pick up his car and no way to contact anyone. All he could do now was wait for God knew how long before someone was willing enough to pick him up. After all somebody was bound to drive by at some point -- well, hopefully they don't actually pull a drive by. Jorel did not want to die yet, and definitely not in the middle of a deserted road where he probably wouldn't be found until his body was already decayed to the point he was unrecognizable. 

Oh, my God.

He was really already losing his mind out there. 

Jorel had just laid down on the hood of his car when he spotted something out of the corner of his eye. A figure, standing in the fields on the opposite side of the road. 

He didn't move. For the longest time he didn't breathe. 

The figure remained still. 

Jorel slowly slid off the car hood. He squinted. The figure was hard to make out. He couldn't tell if it was a man or a woman or if it was even human. He should get away -- that could be a serial killer for all he knew -- but where would he go? What would he do? There were still miles of road left on either side of him. The fields of dried grass stretched on for miles in the direction of the roads and away towards the trees. It would be too late before he found someone if the figure tried to attack. 

And he couldn't exactly make a quick getaway.

Either way, something rooted him to the spot. 

"H-hello?" 

Silence. The figure made no sign that they heard. Jorel felt stupid for trying. Besides, wouldn't it be weird trying to be buddy-buddy with your own killer? 

But he tried again anyway.

"Hello? Sir? Ma'am? Whatever you are?"

Good one, Jorel thought. Couldn't sound any ruder, could you? 

"Are you lost? Do you need help?" 

The figure didn't move. There was something intriguing about whoever -- or whatever -- was out there, like he was being drawn in by some invisible pull. 

Wait, no. That was crazy talk. 

Jorel shook his head, tearing his gaze away, and that was when he saw it: a singular bright light, hurtling straight towards him. A headlight. He should have jumped out of the way, but he didn't. He froze, feet glued to the ground. The wind picked up, so strong that the hairs along Jorel's neck and arms stood on end.

Then he was on the ground, pain flaring through his whole body. He could have sworn he saw the figure standing over him before he blacked out. 

\---

Jorel's eyes snapped open. He was staring at a ceiling, the light above his head nearly blinding him. Where was he? And how did he get there? 

"Oh, good. You've woken up." 

Jorel started, nearly falling off the bed he was lying in. Not just any bed -- a bed you would find in the medical bay of a movie. What happened? He looked around, taking in his surroundings, and realized that he actually was in some sort of medical bay. What the fuck? He didn't feel any pain, and he couldn't imagine what could have happened recently that landed him in a medical bay. Also why wasn't he in a regular hospital room then? 

And did his siblings know he was there? 

"Quite a shock, isn't it?"

Jorel turned towards the voice. A man stood in front of the doors to the bay. He didn't dare step too far inside, as if afraid he would scare Jorel off if he stepped too close. "Who are you?" he asked, and he heard the fear in his own voice. 

The man held out his hands, palms facing forward. "I was sent to retrieve you."

That didn't answer his question. 

"You're Jorel Decker, right?" 

Jorel furrowed his eyebrows. He slowly nodded.

"Good. Follow me then." He turned and disappeared out the door, not even waiting to see if he would comply. 

Jorel rubbed his forehead. He was dreaming. This was all just a dream. Any minute now he would wake up. 

He closed his eyes, counted to ten. Opened them. 

Not a dream. Okay. Jorel was more confused than scared. All he wanted was to find out exactly what was going on. He felt like he would just about lose it if he didn't know. 

Exhaling deeply, Jorel climbed off the bed and hurried after the man. He was waiting for him mere feet down a long hallway, and he started up again as soon as Jorel caught up to him. 

"Who are you?" he asked again. 

"Does it matter?" He didn't ask it rudely.

Jorel blinked. "I think it does."

The man looked over his shoulder, flashing him a shit-eating grin. "You think so?"

His jaw tensed. "Yes, I do." 

"Charlie Scene." 

The man, now known as Charlie Scene, turned away from Jorel. Knowing his name wasn't enough for him, though. He had many more questions. 

"What happened?"

"Don't you know?" Charlie asked. 

Jorel's face scrunched up in thought. "I...kinda...I remember a light..."

"Just a light?"

"Yeah. A large light racing toward me. That's all I know." 

Charlie remained silent. Jorel scoffed, irritated at his non-existent reaction. What did it mean? What happened to him? Why wouldn't he tell him? 

None of those he asked. Instead what came out was, "Where am I?" 

Charlie chuckled, only fueling his irritation. "You'll find out soon enough."

Jorel narrowed his eyes. He didn't want to find out later. He wanted to find out now. He was typically a fairly patient guy, but he was feeling particularly impatient at the moment. "Come on! Just tell me!"

"Okay, okay!" Charlie laughed. "You're in Hell."

Silence. Jorel let the answer sink in. Hell. He couldn't help but laugh, earning a curious glance from Charlie. 

"You're joking, right?" Jorel asked, raising an eyebrow. There was no way. He wasn't dead. He couldn't be dead. 

Charlie frowned, his back straightening. He suddenly looked too professional. "Why would I joke about that?"

Jorel froze. Something about that didn't settle right with him, and the sudden mood shift didn't help. Was he really in Hell? No, that didn't seem right. It wasn't like he didn't believe in the concept of Heaven and Hell. He did. He just found it hard to believe he was dead. He felt rather alive, anyways. Maybe he was lying then. Maybe they were secretly using him for some twisted experiments and he was being led to his torture chamber. 

And maybe -- just maybe -- after they poke and prod and do horrible things to his body, they wipe his memory and that was why he couldn't remember his death. He never died!

That could easily explain where the light came from. It was the light from whatever machine was used to erase his memories. 

Now all that was left to do was formulate a plan of escape. He couldn't spend the rest of his life being tortured, whether he remembered the process or not. He needed to get back to his siblings to spend every waking moment with them before his real death. 

He was being left behind. Charlie hadn't stopped so Jorel could catch up. He scurried after, wondering how long the hallway was. It felt like an eternity before Charlie suddenly halted at an opening to another room. Jorel nearly ran into his back, waving his arms frantically to find his balance. When he did, he allowed himself to really take in the scene before him.

It was like he walked into some kind of club or something -- not something he'd expect from some kind of torture institute. The space was decently big. Right in the middle was a large leather couch and matching leather chairs, a glass coffee table in the center. Loud music filled the room, almost drowning out the screams in the distant.

Definitely a torture chamber. 

It was weird how he couldn't hear the music just a second ago, despite how deafening it was. Really weird... 

"What do you think?" 

Charlie hadn't yelled to be heard or anything, yet Jorel heard him perfectly fine. 

"I think I'm gonna go deaf!" Jorel shouted, rubbing his ears. 

Charlie laughed. "You don't have to yell. And you get used to it."

"That's implying I'll be in this room often," Jorel said. "Though now that I think about it, you can probably hear this from miles away."

Charlie glanced at Jorel through his peripherals. "Did you hear it coming down this hall?"

Yep, definitely weird. 

"Oh! There he is!" Charlie exclaimed suddenly, losing all professionalism. A grin broke out on his face, and Jorel followed his gaze to see what got him all excited.

Someone was approaching them, a man who looked like he could knock Jorel out with one punch and wouldn't have any qualms over it. A three was tattooed on his neck. 

The crowd seemed to shift as he moved through it, creating an easy path like he were a king. He stopped in front of Charlie and Jorel.

"Is that Jorel Decker?" he asked. His tone leaked authority. He was not someone to be messed with. 

"Yes," Jorel said at the same time Charlie said, "As you requested." 

"Thank you. I can take him from here." 

"Of course." Charlie raised a hand to his mouth like teachers do when discussing important matters to each other in a classroom full of students. "He's a bit of a chatterbox."

Jorel narrowed his eyes, offended because he was right there. And he was _not_ a chatterbox! 

The mysterious man's lips slid into an easy smile. "They all have questions."

 _Stop talking about me like I'm not here_! 

He pressed his lips together, swallowing the words. He decided it wouldn't be the best thing to piss off someone leading him to his place of torture. 

"Did you tell him anything?" 

Charlie nodded. "I was gonna let you tell him, but --" He flashed a smile and nudged Jorel in the arm -- "he's rather persuasive." 

The man looked at Jorel as if seeing him for the first time. He couldn't pretend like he hadn't noticed his gaze flick down, then back up. Jorel shifted, crossing his arms, sticking his chest out. 

"You already know then?" 

"I'm on to you," Jorel said, causing the taller male to cock an eyebrow. "I know I'm your dummy for whatever torture methods you have that you call experiments."

Charlie recieved a scathing look, and he held up his hands. "I didn't tell him that!"

His attention was back on Jorel. "Where did you get that idea?"

"I know it."

"You don't know what happened, do you?"

Jorel shrugged. 

Charlie answered for him. "He says he only remembers a light." 

Another scathing look. "Charlie."

Charlie smiled innocently. "Yes, Johnny?" 

So the mystery man had a name. Johnny turned away then, flicking his wrist in a 'come on' gesture. Jorel followed. They made their way through the crowd and down a set of stairs. The music cut off. The screams and wails grew louder. Jorel had to refrain from covering his ears, which proved to be nearly impossible. The screams pierced into his brain and wrapped around his soul, suffocating it. That would be him soon. Those screams would be coming from him. 

They emerged into another dark hallway, each wall lined with tall doors. Jorel couldn't imagine what was happening on the other side of the doors. He wasn't sure if he wanted to. Better left unknown -- although that sounded almost worse. 

He bit his tongue and swallowed the questions rising up his throat. 

"Don't let Charlie scare you like that," Johnny said then, as if he could sense Jorel's urge to start a conversation. 

He found it very hard to think over the screaming. He had to take a few seconds to put together a sentence in his mind that made sense. "Don't act all nice to me now. I know your secret." 

Johnny chuckled, a sound that came from deep in his throat yet sounded like it came from right next to Jorel.

"What?" Jorel snapped, irritation building in the pit of his stomach. "I don't find the idea of torture very funny." 

"I'm not gonna torture you," Johnny said, and Jorel could hear his smirk. "Did Charlie tell you that?"

"He didn't have to."

Johnny hummed, and Jorel clenched his fists, finding his reaction very annoying for some reason. What was going through his head? Did he think he was insane? Probably, but why? Jorel wasn't insane. Quite the opposite, actually. 

"You're not insane," Johnny said.

What the hell? How did he --? Did he read his mind? Maybe Jorel was going insane after all. 

"I'll explain everything," Johnny continued, stopping in front of a door. The other end was silent, thankfully. "This will be your room." 

Jorel stared at the door, then turned to Johnny. He crossed his arms tightly over his chest. Johnny mimicked him. 

"What's going on?" Jorel asked.

Johnny cracked a smile. "Okay, okay. I haven't given you the proper welcome. My deepest apologies."

Jorel blinked, taken aback. "Proper--"

"Jorel Decker." He slung an arm over his shoulders; Jorel side-stepped away. "Welcome to Hell."


	2. Bohnes

"Let me get this straight." Jorel nibbled his nail as he paced the length of the bedroom. Johnny was sitting cross-legged on the bed, eyes trained on Jorel's form. They've been that way for several minutes. Now Jorel stopped and faced Johnny. "I died, correct? And I'm in Hell now?"

Jorel half-expected Johnny to laugh and tell him it was all a joke. He wanted him, too. 

Instead he nodded. "Yes."

Jorel blinked. Then he laughed, clutching his stomach as he doubled over. He laughed until tears ran down his face from laughing so hard. 

"That's a good one," Jorel said once he began to calm down, wiping his eyes.

"I'm not joking."

"That's real funny. See, I believed you for a second. It just doesn't make sense."

Johnny narrowed his eyes. "And thinking we're a secret institute who use you for experiments does?"

Jorel pretended to think about it. Truthfully he wanted to believe that was the case. It was more like he didn't want to believe that he was dead, that he'd never see his family or friends again. He wanted to believe there was an escape. 

"Yeah," he said. "It does."

Johnny slid off the bed and crossed his arms. "Why is that?"

Jorel stammered, opening and closing his mouth like a gaping fish, racking his mind for an answer. All that came out was a lame, "I'm not dead."

Johnny cocked an eyebrow.

"I'm not!"

_SLAP_!

Jorel raised a hand to his stinging cheek, eyes wide with shock. But the pain didn't last long, not as long as he'd expected. It stung, then eased to a slight tingle before disappearing altogether. 

"What the hell was that?" Jorel snapped, touching his cheek tenderly. 

"Does it hurt?" 

Jorel furrowed his eyebrows. "Yes!"

"You're lying."

"Not really..." Jorel mumbled, but he had to admit it was weird how fast it faded. That certainly never happened in real life. He groaned, burying his face in his hands. He felt a hand on his shoulder, and as much as he wanted to pull away, he didn't. 

"Every human has some trouble coming to terms with it." Johnny spoke softly.

A bitter chuckle forced its way up Jorel's throat. He dropped his hands and shook his head. "With what? There's nothing to come to terms with. In fact I've already come to terms with --"

"We are _not_ a fucking institution!" Johnny snapped, and for some reason, the outburst made Jorel recoil. Anything he wanted to throw back got stuck halfway up his throat. 

Johnny took a deep breath and turned away. He ran a hand over his head. The silence dragged on, the only noise being the muffled screams from outside the bedroom. Jorel didn't move. He pressed his lips tightly together. An invisible weight pressed into Jorel's chest.

_What the hell was that_? Johnny's yelling didn't bother him so much as his expression had. Jorel could have sworn for a split second that Johnny's eyes had flashed complete darkness. His skin had blackened, lips a cracked ashy grey. 

But it had gone so quickly that Jorel assumed he had imagined things. That thought eased his mind, and he got his lips moving again.

"Why can't I remember?" 

"I don't know," Johnny said, back still facing Jorel. "It's rare for someone not to remember. We don't have the science behind it, either."

Jorel shifted. "So I..."

"No, you can't go back to your friends and family."

Jorel shook his head. His legs moved and carried him over to the bed.

"I'm sorry," Johnny said, and Jorel wasn't sure if he was sorry that he'd died or sorry that he had to break it to him. 

"That light..." Jorel tried to make sense of everything. He couldn't. When he thought about the people he knew, he could picture their faces pretty well. But he could barely remember the events of his life leading up to this moment. Thinking about it gave him a headache. He just wanted to sleep. 

"I'll leave you to process it all."

"Wait!" 

Johnny turned around expectantly, but Jorel remained silent. After a couple moments, he left. 

Jorel groaned, the noise rising until it was a near scream, and he flopped back against the bed. It was all so confusing. Jorel had no idea what to believe anymore. Was he dead? No, that didn't make sense. It just didn't. Jorel didn't _feel_ dead. Could you feel dead? Was that a thing? Surely it was. 

Could you feel pain after you died? Jorel had definitely felt _something_ when Johnny had slapped him, but it hadn't lasted long at all. Then again Jorel couldn't even remember the last time he'd been slapped. 

He raised a hand to his cheek, then hopped off the bed and crossed over to a door he assumed led to the bathroom. Thankfully it did. He closed the door, cursing underneath his breath when he realized there wasn't a lock. No privacy, he guessed. That sucked, but he brushed that aside and walked over to the sink. He pressed his palms against the dark granite countertop and leaned in to the mirror. He turned his head slightly, ran a finger along the area of his cheek that should have been marked a light pink. Except there was nothing. No evidence. As if he hadn't been slapped at all. 

Weird. 

"I'm dreaming," he murmured as he straightened up. 

Didn't he already debunk that earlier, though? Maybe not. He didn't know how dreams worked, but he was positive he wouldn't be able to feel things if he were dreaming. 

Releasing a deep breath, Jorel turned on the faucet and cupped his hands under the stream of water. He splashed his face, sighed, then watched the water pool and flow into the drain. 

He tried to make sense of everything one more time, like maybe some cold water had unlocked a part of his brain that had previously been closed off. But if there had been a closed-off section in his brain, the chains had remained tightly secured. There was no getting through, and it frustrated Jorel to no end. He gripped the edge of the sink, squeezed his eyes shut, reigned in his anger. If he didn't, he felt he would just about lose it, maybe punch a hole in the wall. He wasn't sure how well Johnny would take to a hole in the wall. He didn't want to find out. 

Two loud knocks startled Jorel out of his thoughts. He turned the faucet off and opened the door. On the other side stood a male, his face caked with what Jorel assumed was makeup. His eyes flicked to the dark eyes, to the nose, to the mouth. 

"Were you crying?" the male asked. He didn't really sound all that concerned, though. 

Jorel opened his mouth, then snapped it shut. "No, it's just water from the sink."

He shook his head. "What is it with humans and splashing water on their face?"

"Why do you keep calling us humans?"

The male blinked, visibly confused. "Are you not?"

"Y-yes," Jorel said, completely lost. "Aren't you?"

"I'm Bohnes. I was assigned to a Jorel Decker." His eyes flicked down, then back up to Jorel's eyes. "Is that you?"

Jorel started to answer, then froze as he realized what he'd said. "I'm sorry. Assigned? So this is a torture institute?"

Bohnes laughed maniacally. "An institute? Fuck no. Now torture... that can be arranged..." His lips curled up in a chilling smile, and Jorel had the feeling that this Bohnes guy was not messing around. 

He wasn't. He stepped into the bathroom, using one hand to close it behind him. The creepy smile never left his face.

Jorel stumbled back. His eyes flicked down to Bohnes's hand, to the scalpel he didn't notice before. The torture wasn't going to be arranged. No, it already had been arranged. 

"You should consider yourself lucky," Bohnes said, taking a step forward. "I'm the best down here, after all." He waved the scalpel in the air. "But don't worry. I can take it easy for your first time."

Jorel couldn't move any further back. He braced himself against the wall, swallowing thickly as he forced himself to tear his gaze away from the sharp tool. Bohnes gazed back at him, eyes alight with excitement and pleasure. 

"F-first time?" 

Bohnes rested the tip of the scalpel against the underneath of Jorel's chin. "Oh, this won't be the only time we'll have the pleasure of hanging out."

"You're crazy," Jorel said, cursing himself for the quiver in his voice. 

"Aren't we all just a little crazy?" Bohnes asked. "Tell me, what did you do that was so bad that put you in this position?"

"I didn't --" Jorel blinked as realization dawned on him. "Don't tell me you're in on the whole Hell thing, too?" 

Bohnes's smile grew, if that were possible. "Oh, you don't believe? I can see why you're here." He lowered the scalpel, allowing Jorel to breathe once more.

"I believe in Hell and Heaven," Jorel said. "I just don't believe I'm in Hell."

Bohnes laughed like Jorel had just told him the funniest joke. "No human ever _wants_ to believe they're in Hell, Jay. I can call you Jay, right? We're buddies now, right?" 

"No, yo-"

"We should definitely be buddies now," Bohnes continued, ignoring Jorel's rejection. "We'll be spending tons of time together anyways. So tell me, Jay, what did you do? I'm interested to hear your story."

"I don't have a story," Jorel said. "I don't know what I did."

"Now, now, Jay." Bohnes clicked his tongue and shook his head disappointedly. "I won't be easy if you don't cooperate." 

"I--I don't--" He cut off when Bohnes suddenly clamped a hand around his throat, eyes somehow darker than before. "I-I don't remember!" he choked out. 

Bohnes leaned forward until their noses almost touched. "I like to think I'm a nice guy, Jay, but I don't have to be nice to you if you don't want me to." He tightened his grip; Jorel gasped as he fought for air, grabbing Bohnes's arm with both hands. His nails dug into Bohnes's skin, but he didn't seem to care. Jorel wondered if he even felt anything. "And I can hold a grudge. So pick your poison, Jay, and choose wisely."

Jorel stared with wide eyes. Bohnes seemed to realize that Jorel couldn't speak because he let go. Jorel gulped in several breaths of air, raising his hands to his throat. Just like the slap, though, the pain faded quicker than it should have. 

"You're not crazy," he panted.

The creepy smile returned. "Oh, thank you."

"You're _insane_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to leave a comment! They motivate me to write more


	3. Imagine Cold Hands Up To Your Throat

The silence was deafening. Bohnes only smiled wickedly, running a finger along the tiny blade of his scalpel. He didn't deny it, didn't try to throw any comebacks. In fact, he seemed to be completely enjoying himself. 

Jorel closed his eyes. "If...if you're gonna do it, get it over with now."

The silence dragged on. Jorel cracked open an eye, bracing himself to find Bohnes's face right up against his. He didn't. Bohnes remained a few feet away, twirling the tool in his fingers. He ran his tongue along his bottom lip and over the top row of his teeth. The smile never left his face.

"Well..." Bohnes mused. "It's no fun if you don't fight."

A shiver shot down Jorel's spine. "What do you want me to do then? Cooperate or fight?"

Bohnes tapped the sharp point of the scalpel against his lip. "I wanna hear you scream, Jay. The louder, the better." 

Jorel didn't answer. He wanted to run, to shove this psychopath aside and bolt out of the bathroom, out of the room. But his feet felt glued to the ground. As loud as his mind screamed at him to get the hell out of wherever he was ( _You're in Hell. Wait, no, I'm not_ ), he couldn't. 

Bohnes closed the gap between him, tilting his head slightly. He rested the tip of the scalpel against Jorel's jaw and dragged it very lightly down his throat. Jorel took in a shaky breath, clenching and unclenching his sweaty hands at his sides. 

"I want you to beg for me to stop," Bohnes continued, his voice low, holding a lilt that made him sound almost pleasent. "And I'm not gonna stop until I _know_ you can't take anymore. You look like a strong boy, Jay." He squeezed Jorel's biceps. "Look at these muscles." He touched his fingertips to the skin under Jorel's eye. "Look at those eyes. You look like you can take a lot. Let's say we test that, shall we?"

Jorel squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the inevitable pain, but nothing came. 

"You said you were just gonna introduce yourself." 

He cautiously opened his eyes. Bohnes had turned away from him, facing the now-open door. In the doorway stood a man with pink dyed hair and tattoos, a hand resting on his hip. 

"I was," Bohnes said sweetly. "We were just getting to know each other, isn't that right, Jay?" He looked over his shoulder at Jorel, who nodded quickly. "See, I can call him Jay now. We're already practically best friends."

"Johnny sent me over."

Bohnes scoffed. "Figures."

"Said he wanted to make sure you didn't do anything before dinner." 

"Jorel's eating dinner with us? Oh, how lovely. I can't wait." He flashed a polite smile over his shoulder at Jorel before brushing past the pink-haired man and out the door. 

Neither spoke or moved until the bedroom door clicked shut. 

"Did he hurt you?"

Jorel huffed, dusting his hands off on his pants. "Just my pride," he muttered. 

The other smiled sadly. "I don't even know why he was assigned to you. I mean, I personally don't think you did anything wrong on Earth."

"On..." Jorel sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He really couldn't take anymore of this Hell bullshit. 

"I'm Danny, by the way."

"I'm tired." Jorel pushed past Danny, ignoring the hurt noise that came from the other man. He really was tired. He wanted to sleep forever, and when he collapsed on top of the bed, he found it was the most comfortable thing ever. Really, if someone was being held hostage in a torture institute, why provide them with the most softest and lightest mattress ever? 

It didn't really matter at the moment. He was quite thankful for it, knowing he didn't have to worry about an aching back whenever he woke up. 

He was about a second away from sleep when Danny spoke up, causing Jorel to groan and push himself up. 

"Are you sure you're okay?" 

"Why are you still here?" His tone came out harsh, and Danny flinched back. He was torn between caring and not caring at all. 

"I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

"I'm fine. I just need to rest." 

Jorel lay back down, rolling over so his back was facing Danny. He exhaled slowly, letting his eyes flutter shut. 

"Alone," he said after a long moment of silence. 

"Oh, right. Okay. Sorry." 

Movement. Jiggle of the doorknob, squeak of the door opening. A pause.

"I'll be back when dinner's ready."

Jorel kept silent. Then the door clicked shut and he released a deep breath, rolling on to his stomach and burying his face into the pillow. 

Sleep didn't come easy. Flashes of demonic faces, racing lights, and shiny, sharp weapons kept him awake, tossing and turning. When he did manage to drift off, it was only to find himself lost in the middle of the woods, terrified he'd never find his way back out. In this dream, he stumbled around in the dark, flinching from every rustle or snapping branch or crunching leaf. The longer he trekked through the trees, the more he felt like the darkness was closing in on him, suffocating him until he could barely breathe. 

He clutched at his throat, gasping for air. The darkness cackled maliciously. Jorel came to a halt, unable to push forward, and he looked around, searching in the shadows. There was nothing. He was alone. 

But he didn't feel alone. 

It was eerily silent now. No wind, no rustling. Nothing but Jorel's labored breathing. 

He spun around on his heel, and his eyes landed on a figure in the distance. It took everything in him to turn and run, but it seemed like no matter how long he ran, the figure was always there, standing, watching. 

He came across a wooden fence, too tall to climb and too smooth to try. His first instinct was to try and find a gate, but as he followed the length of the fence, he found that it seemed to never end. He had no idea how far down he went, but he figured it couldn't hurt to check along the other way. When he turned around, however, he was met with the figure standing right in front of him. He opened his mouth to scream but any noise was immediately cut off when a dark hand grabbed his throat and squeezed. 

"P-please," Jorel gasped, his eyes widening to the point he thought they would pop out. "Let me go..." 

Some crazy part of Jorel actually believed that the figure would, but it only squeezed harder, completely constricting Jorel's airway. He couldn't breathe. His vision was blurry, dark dots dancing in front of him. He was about to pass out, most likely die, he knew that. 

Before the darkness could consume him, a deep, rough voice said, "You can't leave. You can't ever leave. Can you hear me, Jorel?"

_Yes._

"Jorel? _Jorel?_ "

Jorel shot up then, sucking in a huge breath of air. His head bonked against another, but he barely felt the pain. A hand flew to his forehead subconsciously. 

"What the hell...?" he muttered, trying to make sense of his dream. He already forgot most of it. 

"That's what I'm wondering. Goodness gracious..."

Jorel startled from the voice, then remembered someone had woken him up. He found Danny standing a few feet away, rubbing his forehead, face scrunched up with confusion. 

"I'm sorry, I--" Jorel stopped mid-sentence and shook his head. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm here to take you to the dining hall," Danny said, and when Jorel only stared back, he clarified, "For dinner. Do you even know what a dining hall is?"

Jorel frowned. "Yes, I know what a fucking dining hall is." 

"Come on, then."

He sighed. "Okay, let me just...fuck, I don't have clothes."

Danny was at the door at this point, and he looked over his shoulder then, one hand on the knob. "You don't need to get dressed anyways. No one will give a shit."

"Geez, who pissed in your cereal?" 

"We don't have cereal here," Danny grumbled as he led Jorel down the hall of screams. 

"That's not even fair. You guys have comfy beds but no cereal to eat when you wake up too lazy to cook anything?"

"We have cooks for that."

Danny was obviously in some kind of mood. Jorel pressed his lips together tightly to keep himself from talking more -- like a _chatterbox_. Except Jorel wasn't a chatterbox and he could shut up whenever he wanted. 

They arrived in a big room with a long table in the middle. The dining hall. Taking in the amount of filled chairs at the table, Jorel suddenly wished he could turn around and bury himself under the covers again and never come back out. He was never a people person to begin with, and there were a lot of people in this one room. He took one startled step back, but a hand pressed into his back before he could get away. He glanced up to the owner of the hand to find Johnny, his eyes trained straight ahead. He led Jorel to an empty seat between two strangers, and he had an urge to grab Johnny's sleeve and make him stay next to him. He really didn't want him to go, but he let him, and Johnny took the seat across from him, which made Jorel feel slightly more comfortable. 

There was no toast or talk before dinner, like Jorel had thought there might be. Instead, as soon as Johnny was seated, everyone began to fill their plates. Jorel remained still. He was hungry, and seeing the various plates of food lined up made his stomach rumble, but he tucked his hands in his lap instead. 

"Are you gonna eat?" one of the strangers beside him asked. 

Jorel opened his mouth to insist he really wasn't all that hungry, but before he could, the other stranger dropped a rather large piece of chicken on his plate.

"You should try the chicken," he said, offering a kind smile. 

Jorel only stared at him, lips slightly parted. 

"Oh, I'm sorry. That wasn't very nice of me, was it? I'm Gerard Way. That's my brother, Mikey Way."

"I'm --"

"We know who you are," Mikey said, earning a glare from his brother.

"Mikey, what have I told you about coming off creepy?"

Mikey lowered his gaze. "Sorry."

Gerard turned back to Jorel. "Don't mind him. You're Jorel Decker, right?" 

Jorel blinked. "I--yes. How did you --"

Gerard interrupted. "You should try the chicken. I'm telling you the truth when I say that it's the best damn chicken you'll ever have. The cooks here really know what they're doing."

Jorel hesitated, unsure how he felt about Gerard's insistence, but his stomach growled, and he didn't think he could hold back eating any longer. He picked up the large piece of chicken and pulled off a piece with his teeth, chewing slowly. Both brothers watched him intently, and he wondered if perhaps the chicken was poisoned. It did taste weird, but it was good, and he immediately took another bite. 

"Did you process everything?" 

Johnny asked the question, but when Jorel looked up at him, he was focused on his own plate. 

"Uh, yeah," Jorel lied, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. 

"Good. And you met Bohnes?" 

"He did, sir," Bohnes said before Jorel could answer. "We get along nicely, I think."

Johnny nodded imperceptibly. "Well, I hope you enjoy your time at this table. Someone like you shouldn't be allowed here."

"Someone like me?" Jorel asked, eyebrows furrowed. "Like a human?" 

"A dead soul, really. You did process everything." Johnny finally raised his head, and he leaned forward, arms crossed on the table. "Right?"

Jorel leaned back against his chair. Johnny's eyes were piercing into his soul, searching for the truth, pulling the truth right out of him. 

"I-- I... Kind of," he stammered. "I just, I can't -- I can't accept it."

Johnny raised an eyebrow. "You can't? And why is that?"

Jorel shook his head. What kind of stupid question was that? How was he just supposed to accept he was dead when he couldn't even remember how he died? How was he supposed to accept he was in Hell when he couldn't even remember the events of his own damn life? Everything about his day so far had been just too weird, and he'd much rather accept that he was having some messed up fever dream. Maybe he was in a coma. Maybe he took way too many drugs or some shit. 

"My family needs me," Jorel lamely said. 

"Your family will be fine without you," Johnny insisted. "Now eat up. Eat as much as you can." 

Jorel did, only because he was much hungrier than he thought he would be, and all of the food available looked too fucking good not to try. His nightmare was in the far back of his mind now, and Gerard and Mikey made sure it stayed that way, telling him about anything and everything, barely letting him fit in a word, which was fine. He was much better off stuffing his face, anyways. 

Gerard and Mikey weren't bad guys, though. They didn't make him feel like something was off. In fact, it almost felt like everything was normal and they were just three friends hanging out. 

But that feeling of normalcy didn't last. Someone cleared their throat, ceasing all conversation, and stood up, scraping their chair back. Murmurs rose from all around the table, telling Jorel that this wasn't a daily occurrence. 

"I would just like to personally welcome Jorel Decker to this table. After all, Johnny said it himself: you shouldn't even be here right now." 

Johnny scowled. "Brendon --"

Brendon continued as if he hadn't spoken at all. "It's a shame you're here at all, really. Quite a turn of events, but here you are." He laughed, shaking his head. "I think I speak for all of us when I say that we wanna make your stay the best it can be. Like a vacation. A long, unplanned vacation. But those are the best, right?" 

A few scattered murmured replies. Jorel dropped his gaze to his plate, shifting uncomfortably. 

"Vacations aside, though, I hope we can get along quite well. You look like a fairly nice guy. No wonder Johnny likes you." 

"Brendon, you've said enough," Johnny grumbled. "Now sit down before you get us in trouble."

"Johnny, ol' Lucy knows everything you're doing, so whatever you think you're getting away with, you're not." 

"Just shut the fuck up, Brendon! You know what happened last time you crossed me." 

Brendon did shut up, and Jorel figured whatever it was that had happened must have been pretty bad. He looked up to Johnny's apologetic gaze. 

"What the hell is he talking about?" Jorel asked, though he had an inkling he already knew, whether he wanted to believe it or not. 

Johnny shrugged, then shook his head. "Nothing, Jorel. It doesn't matter."

Jorel scoffed. "Clearly it does. You wouldn't get so defensive otherwise."

"I wasn't getting defensive!" 

Jorel slammed his hands on the table and leaned forward. "What are you trying to get away with and why can't I be here?" 

"I already told you," Johnny growled. "You're dead. You're in Hell."

Jorel scoffed. He shot up out of the seat and stepped away from the table. "This is some elaborate prank," he said. "And I don't find it very funny at all." 

"I know it's hard --"

"You don't know shit, Johnny," Jorel snapped. Shocked faces looked from Jorel to Johnny to Jorel again. Johnny looked about ready to explode, but when he opened his mouth, no words came out. Jorel shook his head and turned on his heel. Halfway to the door, he turned back around. "I'm going back to my family. Don't try to stop me." 

Johnny clenched his jaw, expression stony. Even from where he stood, Jorel could see the shame in his eyes. _Good._

He got a glimpse of Brendon before storming out of the dining hall. He sat in his seat, his fingers elegantly wrapped around his wine glass, a smug smile curling his lips. It rose goosebumps along Jorel's arms, and he had a strange feeling his stay wouldn't be quite like a vacation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to leave a like and comment; it motivates me!


	4. Point Of No Return

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know how I feel about this chapter. It almost feels rushed, but I did my best to get what I wanted through. That being said, I hope you enjoy it anyways

He had no idea how he actually got there. One moment he was hurrying down seemingly endless twist and turns of hallways. The next he was standing in front of his father's house. He came to a sudden stop, slightly disoriented and very confused. He looked down at his hands, then his feet, then back up at the house. 

How the fuck? Did he just...teleport? No, that had definitely been teleportation. He hadn't been standing there just a moment before. 

He hadn't had much time to mull over it when the sound of the front door opening distracted him. His sister stepped out of the house, his father right behind her. His father looked stressed and tired. As soon as the door closed behind them, Daniella wrapped her arms around Miles's neck, burying her face against his chest. Her shoulders shook. 

Jorel frowned. Was she crying? Did her boyfriend break up with her? 

His brothers joined them then. One of them, Tyler, stared out at Jorel. 

No. Not at him. Through him, like he didn't know he was there. His face was stained from tears, his hair a mess. His whole family looked like a mess. 

What was going on? 

"Jorel! There you are!"

Jorel couldn't help it when he suddenly whipped his head around to where Gerard and Mikey were now standing and hissed, "Shut the fuck up!"

Gerard waved a hand. "They can't hear us anyways. I mean, I can scream right now and none of them will bat an eye." There was a mischievous gleam in his eyes, and his lips parted, and Jorel knew he was about to test the theory. A glare seemed to change his mind. "What's the deal? You seem a li-- oh."

Jorel only crossed his arms and turned back to the scene. By then the group hug had parted. Daniella wiped her eyes. They were speaking, but he was too far away to hear them. 

"I'm sorry," Gerard said, and he sounded genuine. When Jorel glanced over in confusion, he had his hands stuffed in his pockets, his eyes trained on the scene in front of them, and even Mikey had an apologetic look on his face. 

"Why are you sorry?" he asked, eyebrows knitting together. "I -- I don't even know --"

Gerard tilted his head slightly. "You don't know?" Before Jorel could answer, he grabbed his wrist and pulled him towards the porch so they were in ear shot. 

Jorel tugged his arm out of Gerard's grip, throwing another glare at him. But then he turned back to his family when he heard Michael speak up, his voice choked with tears he was so obviously trying to hold back. 

"He's still here, you know?" He sounded hopeful, assuring himself more than the others. "Just in our hearts."

"I just --" Daniella sniffed, wiped her eyes, tried again. "I just want to see that little smile of his. I want to scold him one more time about his choice in friends, and -- and have him yell at me that I shouldn't be -- that his friends aren't bad people. And I want -- I want to --" 

But she couldn't continue, sobs racking her body, and Tyler pulled her into a tight hug. 

"The world is so cruel," he said softly. 

Jorel frowned, his fingers curling into his hands. "Are they --?" He couldn't get the words out, but he didn't need to.

Gerard nodded. "They're talking about you."

Except they couldn't be. He was standing right there in front of them. They just hadn't noticed yet. 

"It was an accident," Miles said. "The guy who did it called 9-1-1. The accident fucked him up or something. He was completely losing it at the hospital. God, it was so horrible."

"How did he not see him?" Evan asked.

Miles shrugged. "I think he did. He kept going on about how he didn't mean to, that he really, truly didn't mean to --"

Daniella pulled away from Tyler, a shadow crossing her features. "Do they ever mean to?"

"He said he tried to stop, to swerve, to something, but it was too late. He'd hit him."

"Like he couldn't stop himself?" Michael asked, disbelief evident in his voice.

"I don't know what happened," Miles said with an almost unnoticeable raise of his shoulders. "I don't know what the man witnessed to make him act out the way he did, but I'm sure he's been put in a psychiatric hospital by now."

None of them said anything, letting the words sink in. Jorel breathed in deeply, shakily. He felt unsteady, like the world was spinning too fast under his feet and would throw him onto his back. He wished the world would open up underneath him and suck him in; he'd rather believe that than the conversation he was witnessing now. 

A million thoughts flooded his mind all at once, like a gate had opened and allowed entrance. Accident? Psychiatric hospital? The guy who did it. 

_I want to scold him one more time about his choice in friends_. Daniella often did scold him about his friends. It didn't help when one of them got arrested not too long ago. She claimed they were bad influences on him, but it wasn't like they forced him into beating up kids or dogs in the dark alleys of L.A. They weren't homophobic -- why would they be his friend in the first place? In fact one of his friends Aron, the one that got arrested, confessed crushing on him once. They even shared a kiss -- Jorel's first kiss -- when they were teenagers. So no, they weren't homophobic. They weren't racist. They didn't _make_ him take drugs or drink alcohol -- and he did, but not a lot and not all the time. 

But still, Daniella had her own opinions. 

It was Michael's words that really stuck with him, though. He couldn't figure out why, and it was really beginning to frustrate him. 

"Jorel?" Mikey's voice pulled him out of his thoughts, and his frustration quickly melted into panic. Mikey placed a hand on his arm. "Is everything okay?"

A stupid question. Jorel stumbled away from Mikey, bumped into Gerard, who tried to grab a hold of him. He ripped away from Gerard, shaking his head. 

"No," he breathed. 

"Yes," Gerard dragged out. 

"No. No, this can't be -- this can't be happening."

"Jorel," Mikey said, stepping towards him. He stopped mid-stride when Gerard shook his head. 

"It is," Gerard said. 

Jorel glanced from Gerard's serious expression to Mikey's worried one, then to his father and siblings who still hadn't noticed them. Panic gripped his heart, held it in a chokehold --or, that was, if he had a heart. The reality of it all was beginning to set in, but Jorel refused to let that happen. 

Because no, he wasn't dead. He could keep telling himself that because it was true. He was a very careful guy. He refused to believe Death cheated him that easily. 

Gerard grabbed Jorel's arm, but he yanked it away and hurried to his family. They didn't acknowledge his presense, only continued talking about what they had done and wished they'd done with Jorel. It was weird listening to people talk about him as if he weren't there, but he barely heard what they were saying anyways. 

If there was one thing Jorel knew most about death from movies and TV shows, it was that you couldn't touch a living human if you weren't used to the amount of energy needed to do so. 

He reached out a hand, hesitated, fingers instinctively curling. He couldn't. He just...he wasn't scared, no. He was just...

Okay, he was scared. But he had every right to be scared. 

Exhaling slowly, he lowered his hand to Daniella's shoulder -- only for it to pass straight through. Even though part of him had expected it, he still lost his balance and stumbled forward a little, straight into his sister. With a yelp, he scurried away, nearly tripping. 

Gerard burst out laughing, but Jorel was in too much shock to glare or yell at him. He was shaking. No words could describe how that had felt. Cartoons made it seem like nothing. Shows made it seem like a ripple through your body or something. That was way worse than either. 

He was pulled off the porch by Mikey. "You good, man?"

Jorel opened his mouth, but the words got stuck on the tip of his tongue. He shook his head. 

"You get used to it," Gerard assured him, but he was still laughing. Jorel could punch him in the throat, but he refrained. 

"I can't be -- I can't."

Gerard rested a hand on a jutted hip. "What will it take for you to accept your fate, hm? I feel like this particular information goes in one ear and out the other."

Jorel ran a hand through his hair. "This isn't -- this isn't fate, Gerard! I wasn't supposed to die! Not yet! This is like -- premature or something, I..."

Mikey grabbed Jorel by the shoulders and turned him around so they were looking each other in the eye. "Jorel, calm down."

"Calm down? Calm down?! How am I supposed to --" He gasped. "No..." 

He spun on his heel and, ignoring both Gerard and Mikey's calls, darted down the street. He ran what would have been nearly forty minutes in ten minutes, and when he arrived at the jail, he was startled to find Gerard and Mikey already there in front of the doors.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Jorel asked, surprised to find he wasn't all that out of breath. "Scratch that. How did you know I would be coming here?"

"A hunch," Gerard said with a small shrug. 

Jorel rolled his eyes. He hurried indoors and to the front desk. The male behind the desk didn't even look up from his computer, not even when Jorel slammed his hand on the surface. 

"Can I talk to Aron Erlichman? Just for a minute?"

No reply. 

"Hello?" Jorel waved a hand in front of him. "Hello? Can I see Aron Erlichman, please?" 

"He can't hear you," Gerard said. "Or see you."

But Jorel was desperate. He leaned against the desk and, in his attempts to get his attention, knocked over a cup holding pencils. They spilled onto the desk. Several rolled off and clattered onto the floor. 

That got the man's attention. His head snapped up, eyes wide. 

"Oh, so now you notice me," Jorel huffed. "Listen, I need to --" 

He stopped short. The man was ignoring him. He picked up the cup and the pencils still on the desk. He dropped the pencils into the cup, set the cup down, then moved around the desk to pick up the pencils on the ground.

Jorel's eyebrows furrowed together. He took a step back, eyes glued to the stranger. Then he took another step back. The man straightened up and returned to the other side of the desk. 

Jorel ran. He could find Aron on his own. It couldn't have been that hard. 

It wasn't. Aron was in Cell Block B, in a cell close to the first set of doors. He was leaning against the bars, talking to someone else who was curled up on the bed, back against the wall. 

"Aron!" 

Aron remained still, but the other man perked up then. His eyes flicked towards Jorel.

"Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?" Aron asked, voice rough, as if he hadn't spoken for days. "Are you hearing things again, Jeff?" 

Jeff relaxed once more. "Probably. Though I swore I heard someone call for you."

Aron scoffed. "You're crazy."

"I'm not crazy."

"Tell that to the voices in your head." 

"Aron!" Jorel tried again. This Jeff guy heard him. He must have. He didn't think anyone else called for Aron. He didn't hear anyone else. 

Jeff shot back up, lowering his legs. "There it is again! I swear, dude, someone is calling for you."

Aron banged his head against the bars, which looked painful, but he didn't react. "Probably going to tell you to shoot me."

Jeff huffed. "With what gun?"

Aron sighed. "If I turn around, will you shut up?" 

Jeff didn't reply, but that seemed to be a satisfying answer for Aron because he turned around and peered through the bars. Jorel knelt down so he was face-to-face with Aron. 

"Oh my god, thank God, Aron," he breathed. "I was beginning to worry. You will not believe --"

Aron turned away, which Jorel thought rude. "See? There's no one there."

Jeff humphed in response, picking at his nails. 

Jorel slowly rose to his feet. His mind completely shut down. Aron couldn't see him. The stranger at the front desk couldn't hear him. His family couldn't see him. 

"Jorel?" 

"I'm dead," he said. His voice sounded too loud.

"Yes," Gerard said. 

"I'm--"

"Dead. Yes, you clarified that. How about we head back?" 

Jorel finally looked over where the Way brothers stood. "Hell? I'm in _Hell_?"

Mikey shifted uncomfortably. "It's really not all that bad."

"I--" Jorel rubbed the side of his head. "I'm a dead soul, Mikey. Not a demon. I've been assigned a psychopath to torture me."

Gerard hummed thoughtfully. "Well...it's more like the psychopath was assigned to torture you."

"Gee, shut up," Mikey said. 

Jorel shook his head. Hell. Not a torture institute. Not some nightmare or scary fever dream. He wasn't in a coma and he wasn't in a prank show. He was _dead_ and in Hell. 

"I think he's gonna faint," Gerard said warily. "Let's get him back."

And then he was no longer standing in a Cell Block. He was in the hall of screams, right outside his door. When he glanced around, Gerard and Mikey were no longer there. 

That was okay. He needed time to himself anyways. 

Unfortunately, when he opened the door and stepped in, his eyes landed on the demon sitting on his bed. 

"Hello, Jay," Bohnes drawled. He slid off the bed. 

Jorel closed the door behind him. He didn't dare step further in. "What are you doing here?"

"You've kept me waiting, Jay," Bohnes said, his lips curling up in a sly smile. The smile faded quickly. "I don't like to be kept waiting."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to leave a comment! They motivate me to keep writing!


	5. Just Like You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING 
> 
> This chapter does have a lot to do with torture. Now it isn't extremely bad or overboard or anything, at least in my opinion, but I thought I would let you all know just in case. 
> 
> Also this chapter is shorter than I would usually write it, but I think it came out nice. 
> 
> A couple new characters will be introduced next chapter, so stay tuned for that :)

"Bohnes?"

"I don't care where you were," Bohnes continued, sliding off the bed. He crossed the room and into the bathroom as he spoke. "It's not my business. Just never do it again, and we won't have any problems."

He came out of the bathroom, a tray of various tools balancing on each hand. He set them on the bed and arranged the tools in a neat order. Jorel watched, throat tight, stomach churning. Bohnes had everything ready, he realized, and he was decidedly not ready at all. It would have been different if he knew he'd be eventually forgetting the pain he was about to go through, but he wouldn't. This was something he'd remember forever.

And forever was a long time. 

"Don't try to run, Jay."

Jorel tensed, and his hand fell limp against the doorknob. He hadn't even been aware he'd moved at all. 

"I-I'm sorry, I --" An agonized scream broke out on the other side of the door. Jorel swallowed thickly, a wave of nausea passing through his stomach. 

Bohnes sighed softly. "Oh, Jay... You really disappointed me when you didn't show up on time. But I can forgive you for that. I can trust you to cooperate, right? You won't run?"

Jorel swiftly shook his head. That seemed to be an acceptable answer for Bohnes, who turned away with a nod; however, Jorel wasn't sure he quite believed himself. He was itching to get away to safety. 

Bohnes plucked a coil of thin cord from the tray and turned back to Jorel. He crossed over and grabbed his arm -- gentle, like a lover's touch -- and then the other. "Just in case you try to fight back," he said, tying the cord around his wrists. 

"So I don't ruin your precious makeup?"

Bohnes cocked his head to the side. "Makeup?" 

"Yeah, on your -- is that not...is that not makeup?" 

"If this were makeup," Bohnes said as he turned back to his tools, "it would melt right off."

Jorel shifted. "F-face paint?"

He looked over his shoulder, lips curling up in a one-sided grin. "It's my face. Now shut up. I told you I would be easy, and I can easily change that."

Jorel pressed his lips together. Maybe it wouldn't be a bad idea to play along. Jorel didn't want to get on his bad side. 

Bohnes picked up a hammer and examined it for a few moments, running his hand along the handle, caressing the claws and head. He hummed thoughtfully. "I like you," he said, taking deliberately slow steps towards him. "I really do. And I'd hate to do this to you." He slapped the handle against his hand a couple times. "This is just for extra precaution."

He slammed the bottom of the handle against Jorel's shoulder. An intense burning shot through his shoulder and down his arm. Then his entire arm went numb and limp. Jorel groaned, slapping a hand to his shoulder, wincing as another shot of pain flared. He narrowed his eyes at Bohnes, who blinked innocently. 

"You don't have to lie," Jorel panted, "or whatever you call it. I know better than that."

"No, really. You intrigue me." He rammed the hammer against Jorel's other shoulder, providing the same treatment. Jorel inahled a sharp breath as his arm swung limply to his side. "For starters, you haven't even screamed yet."

Jorel stared, almost daring him. "Is that all you've got?"

Bohnes chuckled. "Oh, no. No, no, no. This is just the beginning." 

He turned his back, and Jorel blew out a slow breath, banging his head against the door. Tears welled in the corners of his eyes, and he tried to blink them away. A few escaped and trailed down his cheeks. His legs shook underneath him; eventually, he slid down to the floor, back against the door, eyes slipping shut. Part of him wished he would faint, but he wasn't sure he was even capable of fainting.

But if he weren't capable of fainting, then why was he capable of feeling so sick? 

"Oh, dear... what do we have here?" 

He cracked his eyes open to find Bohnes kneeling in front of him. 

"You aren't giving up already, are you?" 

With a pained grimace, Jorel shook his head. 

"Good," Bohnes said softly. "I knew you were stronger than that, Jay." 

Jorel dropped his gaze to Bohnes's hand. He was loosely holding the scalpel from earlier. Jorel could feel the cold tip pressed under his chin. He tore his gaze away, another wave of nausea passing by. 

"I never did get to mark you," Bohnes said, a troubled expression on his face. "Dannyboy interrupted us before I could." 

"M-mark me?" Jorel didn't want to know what that meant, though he had an idea, but the words formed before he could stop them. 

"Of course. They can't forget who's you are." 

"Who's I am? You don't own me, Bohnes." 

"Not yet," he murmured, curling a hand around the hem of Jorel's shirt. His knuckles brushed against his stomach, as cold as the scalpel had been. 

Jorel's eyes shot open, and he shifted from Bohnes's reach. "What the fuck are you doing?!" 

Bohnes retracted his hand slowly. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't ask for consent. Can I take your shirt off?" 

Jorel blinked in disbelief. 

"Yeah, you're right. I'm gonna do it anyway." He reached forward once more and slipped his shirt off, tossing it aside. He picked the scalpel back up and dove right in to his work, not wasting a single second. 

Jorel gasped when the scalpel cut skin. It didn't bleed, but the pain was still excruciating. He gritted his teeth hard enough he believed he might break his jaw. It took everything in him not to move because he knew if he did the pain would only worsen.

It was over before he knew it. 

The pain lingered, but it didn't fade. Not right away. Jorel rested his hands against his stomach, too afraid to look. Not that he needed to. He knew exactly what he would see, and the image in his head was bad enough. Every second that inched past aggravated the sick ache in his stomach. 

As Bohnes took his sweet time rummaging around in his tools, the resistence to look became harder and harder. He could feel the bumps of the cuts under his fingertips, could imagine the sticky wetness of the blood that should have been there. Before he knew what he was doing, he dropped his gaze to his bare stomach. 

He nearly threw up. 

In big, slanted letters, Bohnes had carved his own name, starting from the bottom right, near his hip, to the top left across his chest. It didn't appear deep, but still, he figured he could stick the tip of his nail in the gash. With that thought in his head, he raised his hands so they hovered over his stomach. But even though the sight was sickening, he couldn't bring himself to look away until Bohnes spoke again. 

"Nice, ain't it? I see you can't take your eyes off it." 

Jorel snapped his gaze up. His lips drew back in a scowl. 

"One of my best works, I think," Bohnes continued, not looking up from the tray of tools. "I made sure to take _extra_ care for you." He picked up a pocketknife, pulled out the blade, flicked it back in. He turned around. "Oh. Is something wrong? You look rather displeased. You aren't...displeased, are you?" 

Jorel didn't answer. 

Bohnes sighed deeply. He knelt in front of Jorel. "You know, I haven't seen you smile yet. Not even during the dinner. You've made good friends with Gerard and Michael, haven't you?"

Silence.

"You have beautiful lips," he murmured. "It's a shame you don't use it to your own advantage." He rested the pad of his thumb against Jorel's lips, gently swiped it across. He pulled out the blade from the pocketknife and raised it to Jorel's face. "Remember who's you are," he reminded him as he cut into skin.

A strangled cry rose out of Jorel's throat, much to his embarrassment. His tolerance ran out a lot quicker than he thought it would. He sucked in a breath and held it, squeezing his eyes shut. 

"Don't hold back, Jay," Bohnes insisted. "I want to hear you scream." 

Jorel dug his teeth into his bottom lip until it hurt so bad tears slipped down his cheeks. The pain proved to be a great distraction, though, from the pain in his cheek. 

He risked opening an eye, only to cry out in pain when his eyeball met sharp blade. Bohnes tsked disapprovingly, but his lips twitched up in a faint pleased smile. He never faltered. Rather, he turned to his other eye. Prying the lids apart with his fingers, he cut a line similar to the other side. Jorel squirmed, letting out an uncontrolled scream. 

Bohnes hummed thoughtfully, pulling away from his face. His head fell to the side, eyes glazed, distant. Then he came back to and returned to his work, much like Jorel was a canvas and the cuts were lines of a painting. 

Jorel wasn't sure how much longer he could hold in the sick now threatening to rise in his throat. His entire face seemed to burn now. His eyes were screwed shut because it stung to open them, and his vision was draining anyways. He swallowed, but that didn't help much. 

Finally, after what felt like hours, Bohnes rose to his feet and returned to his tools. 

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" Bohnes asked. "Took it like a fucking champ. I'm proud of you, Jay." 

Jorel scoffed. "Fuck you," he snarled. 

"That wasn't very polite. Look at what I did for you." 

Jorel forced open his eyes to find Bohnes holding up a cracked hand-held mirror. 

"Holy fuck," he murmured.

"You like it?" Bohnes asked. "You like it, don't you? I thought you might." 

Jorel blinked. His vision kept going in and out, and he had to lean close to the mirror to fully take in what Bohnes had done to him. He looked absolutely horrible. Bohnes had cut into his cheeks from the corners of his mouth, representing a smile. His eyes had decently deep gashes down the middle. His lips looked like they had stitches. 

Jorel was horrified. 

"What the fuck did you do to me?" 

Bohnes lowered the mirror, wearing a big grin across his face. "I turned you into one of me. Do you like it?"

The only response Jorel could provide was turning away and emptying out his dinner from his stomach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to leave a comment! It helps motivate me to write more :)

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed this! It was really fun to write, I think, and I'm excited to see it unfold in front of me with all of you. Leave a comment if you liked this and would like to see more! Comments help motivate me
> 
> As for tagging, don't focus too much on the tags because I can't tag worth crap. And also I'll add onto characters and relationships as they pop up


End file.
